Nish began slowly, but he was regaining his form. Once, he carried end to end, only to have a good slapper go off the outside of the far post.
The Washington Wall had chances too, but Jeremy was spectacular in net.
Up and down the game went. Shift after shift, Travis tried to create something, but nothing was happening for his line. Sarah couldn’t break through. Dmitri couldn’t use his speed to get clear. The line they were on against couldn’t get anything going, either. It was that tight a match.
Travis was on the bench when Fahd pinched up and lost the puck. A Wall winger plucked it off the boards and sent a high sailing pass out over centre. He hadn’t even meant it as a pass, just a clearing shot, but Chase Jordan had anticipated perfectly.
Chase caught up to the puck around centre. Wilson was chasing, but he lacked the speed to make up the gap. Chase moved in fast on Jeremy, who came out to cut out the angle. He shot hard. Jeremy caught it with his blocker – a fabulous save! – but the puck bounced right back into Chase Jordan’s chest, fell to the ice, and Chase rapped it in on the rebound.
The Wall were champions!
The President’s son was the hero!
Travis felt the sag on the Owls’ bench. It was as if the air had gone out of the entire team. He turned and looked at Muck, who was already walking up the bench lightly touching each and every Owl on the back of the neck – his little message that they’d done their best, that there was no shame in losing such a great game. And in fact Travis felt good for Chase Jordan. In a way, this was how it had to end after all that had happened.
It was Travis who began the salute. He stood up, leaned over with his stick, and began pounding the boards with it. Sam and Sarah joined in, and soon all the Owls on the bench were doing it. The six Owls on the ice, Jeremy included, began slamming their sticks on the ice.
The crowd took up the chant. They clapped in time with the pounding sticks.
Chase Jordan broke out of the backslapping scrum of Washington Wall players and circled towards the Screech Owls’ bench, raising his own stick to return the Owls’ salute.
The rest of the Wall followed suit.
The Zamboni chute was opening. Two men were wheeling out a table, and on the table was the championship trophy. Right behind came the President of the United States, his shoes sliding on the still-clean ice.
The teams lined up on their bluelines for the presentation. The TV cameras were all back on the ice to record it on video.
The President made a little speech, only parts of which Travis could catch in the echoey arena, and then Chase Jordan, his helmet and gloves off, skated over to accept the trophy from his father.
It was a wonderful moment. So close to being a disaster.
Travis felt a chill run up and down his spine. He didn’t think he’d want to live life the way Chase Jordan and his father lived it. Better to be safe in Tamarack, with only practice and homework to worry about.
Chase handed the trophy to his assistant captain, who raised it high over his head and began a Stanley Cup parade around the rink, while the crowd cheered them.
Chase left the group and skated back to the Owls. He high-fived the Owls until he came to Nish. “My father wants to speak to you.”
“You told!” Nish shrieked, his eyes widening.
Chase Jordan laughed. “No – don’t be silly. He wants to say something to you.”
With the cameras following, and the colour in Nish’s face rising, Chase Jordan and Nish skated over to where the President stood, smiling.
Travis watched the President lean over, say something to Nish as they shook hands, and then, with his other hand, give him something in a small blue box. Nish looked at it as they continued talking. Travis could swear Nish was glowing ever redder.
Nish skated back to the cheers of the crowd and the pounding sticks of the players. He was staring with an odd expression at the tiny blue box he held in his hands.
“What is it?” Fahd shouted.
“What did he give you?” Sam yelled down the line.
Nish held the box out and opened it for his teammates to see: tiny silver buttons with the Presidential seal on them.
“Cufflinks!” Andy shouted, laughing. “You don’t even own a suit!”
Nish was now a deep, deep crimson. “That’s what I said.”
“Well,” said Sarah, “what did he say back to you?”
Nish’s face looked like it was about to burst.
“He said maybe I could wear them with my birthday suit.”
THE END
The Complete Screech Owls, Volume 4 Page 33
